A half hour later, Crocker, Mancini, and Neto deplaned in Caracas. Davis and Cal stayed on the jet, which continued to Panama City, where the two men were taken by ambulance to Hospital Punta Pacifica.
Chapter Sixteen
Rectitude is one’s power to decide upon a course of conduct in accordance with reason, without wavering; to die when to die is right, to strike when to strike is right.
—Nitobe Inazo
Crocker, Mancini, and Neto were examined, X-rayed, and patched up by a doctor and nurse at a clinic, then driven to the safe house in La Florida, where they crashed. Crocker heard Mancini shouting in his sleep, “They’re coming! Quick! Find a place to hide!”
That afternoon after he woke and was limping from the living room to the kitchen, he heard rap music, then saw a big young African American man sitting on the sofa, typing on a laptop.
Recognizing him, Crocker said, “Tré, what the fuck are you doing here?”
Tré’s real name was Dante Tremaine. Why the former marine and University of Nevada, Las Vegas basketball player was called Tré had never been explained to him. Maybe it was because he’d been an excellent three-point shooter in college, or maybe it was because Tré was an abbreviation of his last name, which was pronounced Tree-maine, not Tray-maine. Crocker knew him as an expert munitions and weapons man, a tireless worker, and a fun guy to be around despite his complicated personal life, which involved three children with two women.
“Captain Sutter sent me ’cause of what went down with Ritchie,” Tré responded with a toothy smile.
“How’s Rich?”
“He’s making slow progress, but it’s gonna take a while.”
“How long you been here in Caracas?”
“Two days, one night.”
“Well, it might be a short deployment,” Crocker observed.
“Whatever happens is cool with me,” Tré responded. “Oh, and the Captain wants you to call him when you’re awake.”
“I’m awake now.”
“If you say so.” Tré smiled.
Crocker had suspected he might be hearing from his CO after what had happened in Foz and Barinas. Pointing to the half-eaten protein bar on the wooden coffee table, he asked, “Where’d you find the Promax bar?”
“There’s a whole box in the kitchen,” Tré responded. “Help yourself.”
He gobbled one down with a quart of milk he found in the refrigerator.
Tré pointed to the multiple burn marks and bandages crisscrossing Crocker’s torso and said, “Fuck, man. Looks like someone used you as a dartboard.”
“I ran into some lit cigarettes.”
“Hope you punished them sons-a-bitches.”
Crocker grinned. “Some of them, yeah.”
Tré chuckled. “That’s what I dig about you, chief. The glass might be a drip or so from empty, but you always see the silver lining. Like the movie, right?”
Crocker hadn’t seen a movie in months. He lifted the receiver of the STU secure telephone, picked up the key that lay beside it, inserted it into the hole at the top of the phone, and turned it. Then he pointed at the stereo and said, “Turn it down.”
Tré said, “Those are my brothers Kanye and Jay-Z.”
As Crocker punched in the numbers, he muttered, “It’s all the same nasty rap shit to my ears.”
“Then you need some educating to appreciate where it’s coming from—lyrically, I mean.”
“Turn it down or plug in.”
Captain Sutter picked up in his office at SEAL Six command and spoke in his distinctive Kentucky drawl, “Sutter here. Who’s this?”
“It’s Warrant Officer Crocker, sir, calling from Caracas.”
“Chief Tom Crocker, speak of the devil. Several of us here were just talking about you. We expected you and Mancini to continue to Panama City with the rest of your team.”
“There was no need, sir,” Crocker said. “The two of us are ready and able to continue with the mission.”
“Jesus Christ, Crocker, don’t you ever stop?” Sutter asked.
“Stop, sir? What for?”
“Stop, as in take a break, heal, attend to your mental health, smell the friggin’ roses.”
“Sir?”
“I know you, Crocker, and I know you push yourself beyond the breaking point. I’ve heard your motto: Blood from every orifice. I admire your dedication and courage, but everyone has their limits.”
Crocker said, “I know that, sir, but maybe my limits aren’t as narrow as you or I think they are. The point is, I only suffered minor cuts and bruises. I’m rested and ready to go.”